


Animal Husbandry on a Cubicle Farm

by mahoni



Category: Bandom, Kill Hannah, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe: Office, M/M, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob was not expecting live porn in his cubicle when he got up that morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal Husbandry on a Cubicle Farm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stratospherique](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stratospherique).



Bob waved his badge in front of the badge reader and pushed open the door. When it closed behind him he stood there for a second holding his hot coffee, momentarily blinded by all of the beige.

It was seven a.m., dead quiet because no one else was there, and Bob was hit by the feeling he always got when he stepped into the cubicle farm first thing in the morning. The feeling of _how did I get here_.

It was partly existential, but also partly because he lived his entire life by rote and had stopped paying attention to things like getting up in the morning, showering, getting coffee and driving to work. For example, he wondered if construction on I-270 was done. He'd driven through the construction zone that morning but couldn't remember if the orange barrels had still been there.

"What a great life," Bob said to the buzzing fluorescent lights. "I'm so glad to be here."

He wandered back to his cubicle and flopped into the chair, poking his mouse to wake up his computer. No one else generally came in until seven-thirty; he used that half hour alone in the morning to surf the internet or stare at the wall.

"Hey neighbor."

Bob choked on his coffee. His eyes were streaming and he had serious fears of burn scarring in his sinuses before he managed to get the mouthful swallowed and start breathing again.

Mat Devine from requisitions stood lounging against the cubicle wall grinning sleepily at him all through it.

"Motherfucker," Bob wheezed. "What the fuck."

Mat's shirt and pants were rumpled and he had bed head. He also had a pattern imprinted on the side of his face that looked like it could have come from Berber carpet.

"Did you sleep here last night?" Bob said.

"MMMMmmmm," Mat said. He did this thing where he sort of flowed from the wall and onto Bob's lap. "Mmmaybe."

"The hell." Bob didn't know where to put his hands. The guy was straddling his lap, forearms draped loosely over Bob's shoulders. Bob finally settled for jabbing in the lower ribcage area. "Get the fuck off me."

Not that he actually minded having Mat in his lap. One of the few things that made his job worth getting up in the morning for -- okay, really the only thing other than the paycheck and health benefits -- was Mat Devine. He'd never once spoken to the guy. Mat worked requisitions, Bob worked tech support; Mat's cubicle was on the opposite side of the wing. Bob only ever saw him at the coffee pot or in the hallway.

But Mat wore suit pants that were too tight in the ass and dress shirts that were thin enough to see tattoos and nipples through. When the boss was around or he had to meet with customers, Mat wore a jacket. Bob always looked forward to days when there was no boss or customers.

Bob had spent many hours in his cubicle imaging having Mat Devine on his lap. Those fantasies generally involved discreet nakedness and ass-fucking, and always ended with Bob having to shuffle off to the bathroom to deal with his boner.

So he didn't, in theory, mind having the guy actually on his lap, grinding down in a really, really..._really_ nice way.

But in actuality they were in Bob's cubicle, and people would be filtering in any time now, and also --

"What the hell are you doing?" he said. He kind of hated how unsteady he sounded.

Mat ducked his head so that his mouth dragged against Bob's neck.

"I was waiting for you, dude."

He gave Bob's earlobe a lick and a nip. Bob felt himself turn red all over.

"Well, not really," Mat said, flashing a blurry grin. "I just heard you come in, and I was horny, so."

Bob was going to say, "And you couldn't have handled that in the bathroom with foamy pump soap like the rest of us?" but then Mat got a hand on Bob's dick through his pants and all that came out was "Hhhnnnnn oh fuck."

Pushing Bob's legs apart as he went, Mat slid to the floor. He kept squeezing and chafing with the one hand while the other worked Bob's belt loose. Fairly expertly, in fact. But the point was --

"What, no --"

Bob tried to grab at Mat's hand to stop him, but there was a head in his way, a nose and mouth nuzzling at the soft part of his belly through his shirt while hands got Bob's pants open and his boxers pulled down in front.

Then the mouth was on his cock, and Bob had to grab the arms of his chair and hold on for a second.

"Shit," he said as Mat went down and down and oh fuck there was tongue, and the suction and the, the heat and wet and. His voice pitched way up and he wheezed, "Shit. Shit shit what the fucking hell."

When the mouth slid up, Bob couldn't help a little thrust up, trying to follow. Mat must have been waiting for it, because as soon as there was even a whisper of air under Bob's ass he yanked on Bob's pants.

They didn't go far. His belt caught between his ass and his seat. But now there was skin over Bob's hipbones for Mat to stroke, the crease of his thigh to press his thumbs into. There was enough room for Mat to weasel a hand into Bob's pants and find his balls.

"Okay," Bob said thinly. He didn't know why he said it. Maybe it let him feel like he was the _least_ bit in control of what was going on. "Okay. Okay."

He got a hand unclenched from the chair arm and stroked it over Mat's head. Mat pulled his hand out of Bob's pants and slapped it away, making an "uh uh" noise around Bob's cock. Bob wasn't offended. Really couldn't be, the way those two vowel sounds vibrated over the head of his cock, so close to the back of Mat's throat.

A flicker to Bob's left startled him, ran him through with _oh shit_ adrenaline, but it was only the screensaver on his computer going on.

When he looked back down, Mat pulled off his cock. For a second he just jacked Bob slowly, the tip of his tongue loose on his bottom lip. He watched Bob's face while he did it. He must have liked what he saw, because the lazy grin came back and he went down again.

He didn't get his hand out of the way, sliding his tongue sloppily over his fingers as they twisted around Bob's cock.

When his fingers slipped out of his mouth, Mat drew back just enough to suckle at the head. Bob was a big fan of deepthroating, but Jesus Christ. Holy shit, the way that felt. The sucking and the tongue fucking the slit sent sparks through Bob's gut.

It was a hell of a distraction. Bob didn't notice Mat's spit-slick fingers moving past his balls until they started poking, pressing, digging in. It felt good and hurt in a way that made a whine push out of Bob's throat, made him drop his head back and slide down just a little in his chair.

Which just made it easier for Mat.

The whine turned into a long, helpless grunt as Mat pushed his fingers in. Bob didn't know how many; didn't really care, because the point was _fingers_, more than one, and Bob squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

At the same time Mat pushed in, the bastard swallowed fast and deep, so it took a second for Bob to remember _fingers_.

"Mat," he choked out. He tried to reach for Mat's head again, not really to pull him off, fuck no, just to get his attention. Mat intercepted, fumbled for Bob's wrist, got it and pressed Bob's arm to the seat of the chair.

He was fucking Bob with his fingers, matching the burn with the dirtiest, sloppiest, most perfect sucking. Bob had to bite his lip to keep from embarrassing the fuck out of himself with things like grunting from the hurt and moaning from the building orgasm and maybe probably begging a little or a lot.

That was good, that he held it in, because he heard the double-click clunk of the east wing door being pushed open, and then he heard,

"Hey, Bob, did you make coffee yet, oh, no, you didn't, that's okay, I'll do it, how was your evening" and some other stuff about the staff meeting they had at eight and shit, _Jeannette don't come back here please God_ he thought.

He felt Mat smile, felt the vibration of his laugh, and Bob followed the other thought with _I am going to fucking kill you Mat if you don't get this over with_.

The horrible thing was that he couldn't push Mat off, not now. It was too far, he _needed_ to finish. But Mat just stayed there between Bob's legs, fucking and sucking him lazy and slow while Jeannette rattled around in the kitchenette two rows over.

Finally Bob whispered, "Please." Caught his breath, and then whispered "Please please please."

And then Mat did something, some combination of twist-and-hum. A small gasp escaped Bob as he came, and just over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and Mat swallowing he heard Jeannette call, "Did you say something?"

Bob bit down on strangled, desperate noises as he slapped at Mat's head and pushed at his shoulders. Mat was laughing again, a breathy gurgle, as he pulled his fingers out of Bob's ass and let Bob's softening cock slide out of his mouth.

Swearing under his breath and breathing hard Bob hitched his hips up and jerked his pants up. His hands were shaking, and between that and the way every brush of fabric over his cock felt like too much and the way his ass felt pried open and sore, he could barely work his belt buckle.

Mat lurched to his feet, swiping a hand over his mouth and looking down at the wet spot on the front of his pants. He made a contented noise and shrugged.

"Okay," he said, no hint of self-consciousness at the way his voice sounded rough. "I'm gonna leave. Hey, send an email out and let everybody know I won't be in today. Like, say I called in sick. Thanks, man."

He left. Just left. Bob was still breathing hard and barely had his shirt tucked in.

"Did you say -- oh, Bob, are you okay?"

Fucking Jeannette popped around the cubicle door, bright-eyed and perky and heavily perfumed.

"You don't look well, hon." She stepped in and rested her hand on his forehead.

He flinched, nearly slapped her hand away, and tried not to die of embarrassment when she tsked.

"Bob, you're really warm. Are you coming down with something?"

"No," he said. He sounded weak, and knew he was turning redder and redder under her motherly glare. "No, I'm. Fine. Just. Just fine. Um. Could you. I just. Need a minute."

She looked even more certain that he was going to, he didn't even know, pass out or projectile vomit or die of bird flu on the spot, but she left. Reluctantly. Told him she'd check up on him in a bit, and let him wave her off.

When she was gone, Bob dropped his face into his hand. He felt spun and he could not fucking believe Jeannette hadn't smelled the reek of sex in the cubicle.

Mat fucking Devine. Bob was going to fucking kill the motherfucker.

Or beg him to let Bob fuck his brains out in the bathroom tomorrow.

"Great fucking life," he muttered under his breath.

***


End file.
